Pulse
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "She's wheeled into his room the day after Mr. Johnson dies, seemingly asleep, perfectly silent. The only thing he knows about her by the end of the day is that her condition isn't good." Sharing a room, waiting for a heart transplant, Richard Castle gets to know the quiet, dying Kate Beckett. AU. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_**pulse**_

* * *

She's wheeled into his room the day after Mr. Johnson dies, seemingly asleep, perfectly silent. The nurses are talking in hushed voices around her, the doctor explaining her condition in terms that, despite having been in the hospital for a few weeks now, he doesn't understand, their conversation marked by the high pitched beeping of her heart monitor. It lines up almost perfectly with the soft sounds of his.

He doesn't get a good look at her, just the flash of her blue hospital gown and the long brown hair that hides her face, and then the curtain between her bed and his is being whipped shut by a nurse.

The only thing he knows about her by the end of the day is that her condition isn't good.

* * *

She doesn't wake up until the next morning. The nurses come in every four hours, do his checks at the same time as hers. He hears her doctor—Dr. Davidson—say something about thinking her last surgery was a perfect success. And then that he had high hopes for Kate, never wanted to see her back in his hospital.

They wake him up every time, for his check, and her for hers and every time he hopes to hear her voice answer their questions. But he doesn't. They just talk about how her heart is so weak. About how she must be so tired, after having dealt with it for months. The nurse, Mrs. Mason, clicks her tongue at him every time he leaves, reminds him that he's not supposed to be eavesdropping.

He reminds her that curtains aren't soundproof, and though she smiles, she knows him better than that.

The morning check comes just past seven o'clock. They wake him first, because he's closest to the door. They check his pulse, comment on his oxygen being a little lower than usual. He's used to that. They always say the same thing: he's not getting any better. Nobody around here is.

Except for her. Because he hears the day nurse, Ms. Branton, try and wake her—he knows the gentle nudges to the shoulder well—and whisper her name. Over and over again until what comes through the curtain isn't the defeated mumble of _Katherine Beckett, no change,_ but rather a pained, tired moan in a voice that is foreign, new. Beautiful.

"Miss Beckett," says nurse Branton, "it's nice to meet you."

The woman, _Kate_ , mumbles back, just loud enough for him to hear: "Wish I could say the same."

He swallows back a chuckle, ignores nurse Branton's glare when she walks by his bed to get Kate's doctor, and the pointed look she gives him before whipping the curtain completely shut, telling him to _not_ listen to the doctor's rundown of her condition.

He's never been one to listen.

He regrets it a few seconds later when he hears her soft cries, feels his own heart breaking for her.

The sentence: "Due to complications from a previous surgery, you've been added to UNOS' list for a heart transplant," doesn't sound all that happy.

* * *

She sleeps a lot. After a week, that's the one new thing he's learned about her. That's it. Her name is Kate. She's thirty-two. She needs a heart transplant and she sleeps a lot. It's not much, considering he shares a tiny hospital room with her, but it is all he knows.

She hasn't had a visitor since she was brought in, and he almost feels bad when his mother and daughter, Alexis, stop by. He doesn't want to bother her, not knowing she needs a transplant, not knowing that the only person she seems to have in her life is her father—to whom she definitely minimizes the situation—and the boss she calls in sick to. But she never complains, never tells them she's trying to sleep. One time, he's even pretty sure he hears her laugh at something his mother says, but he can't be sure, it's so soft.

He's tempted to open the curtain, but he doesn't want to annoy her, doesn't want to initiate something she wants nothing to do with, so their contact is limited to soft, shy smiles as she walks past his bed and into the bathroom.

Then, one day, she's getting checked by a nurse when he hears her ask: "The man on the other side of the room, is he nice?" Her voice is soft, almost melodious, and if he wasn't trying to pretend he not eavesdropping, he would answer himself.

Instead, he lets the nurse answer. She chuckles first and then she tells Kate: "I'm not supposed to share my opinions on my patients, Miss, but since I know he's listening, I think this is okay. In my opinion, he's a very nice man."

"That's what I thought," he hears Kate whisper, like she's talking to herself, like she's forgetting that the only thing that separates him from her is the thin curtain. "Well, then," she continues, just a little louder, "can we open the curtain?"

The nurse's head pokes around the curtain, and she smiles. "Are you okay with that, Mr. Castle?" she asks.

"Very," he answers.

She pulls the curtain open as quickly as they usually pull it closed, and he's met with the sight of one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen, as cheesy as that sounds. Her hair is messy, hasn't been washed in a couple days. She's pale, frail, weak. But her eyes are vibrant and green, her smile wide.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," she answers. "I figured we might as well get to know each other, since we're stuck together until one of us either kicks or gets a transplant."

"How do you know I need a transplant?" he asks, even though he knows.

She grins, eyes sparkling. "These curtains aren't soundproof, Rick," she answers.

He smiles back at her. "I know, Kate."

* * *

She falls asleep again not more than two hours after they meet after a good hour of trying to stay awake. He watches her as she sleeps, watches the monitor at her bedside, the peaks and valleys of her heart rate. It's steady, but slow. Her oxygen is a little low, too. Higher than his, but still lower than what it should be. He watches her stats, watches her, the heaving of her chest, the parting of her lips until he starts to feel like he's intruding on her privacy.

They've only actually known each other for a couple hours, after all.

He doesn't actually know she's awake again until she speaks. Her voice soft. Quiet. "Sorry." It's a whisper, so soft that for a minute he thinks he imagined it, but when he turns to face her, she's looking back at him, eyes wide, innocent. He smiles at her, and she manages a tiny smile in return. "Dr. Davidson says it's a symptom of my heart problems: the fatigue. I think it's just a pain in the ass."

He chuckles. "No worries, I have it, too, sometimes." He motions to the screen behind his bed. "Apparently low oxygen levels can cause that."

She looks up at the screen, then back at him. "What do you have anyway?" she asks. "The nurses come in all the time and they talk about you needing a heart lung transplant and your position on UNOS' list, but they never really say why."

He chuckles joylessly. "Yeah, well, when you've been in here for a few weeks, they stop reminding you of your situation," he tells her. "But, yeah, you're right. I need a heart lung transplant for IPF, Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis."

"What does that do?" she asks, her gaze holding nothing but genuine curiosity.

"It causes, uh, scarring of the lung tissue, but nobody really knows why," he answers. "It causes stress on my heart, which means my heart function is going down. That's why they want to transplant both, even though they say my heart would work fine." He smiles, tries to make it look reassuring. "What about you?"

She sighs loudly, then winces, and her pulse slows just a bit. He watches the monitor until it comes back up, and then looks back down at her.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods. "Yeah, heart just doesn't appreciate deep breaths," she mumbles. She turns back to him, smiles sheepishly. "Long story short, I got shot in the heart and the surgery they did to save me has caused extensive scar tissue to build up. Apparently they tried to remove it surgically when I first got here, but there was too much or my heart was too weak or something. Said I need a transplant. Soon."

"That sucks," he mumbles.

She rolls her head and stares up at the ceiling. "Yeah. I think the worst part is that I saw the signs. They warned me about them, what to look out for. I just… didn't wanna believe it," she says.

"What made you come in, then?"

She turns to face him again, a frown tugging at her features. "I didn't. I passed out during a takedown and my team had no choice but to call an ambulance. Next thing I know, I'm on the heart transplant list and stuck in here."

"Oh, it's not all bad," he tells her, "you do have a ruggedly handsome roommate."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that totally makes up for the fact that I'm risking heart failure every time I laugh."

He's fairly certain it was meant to be a joke, but it doesn't feel like one. It feels like a serious reality check. A really big reminder that they're here, in the cardio-pulmonary ward of New York City's best hospital, and both of them could die.

And there's no words adequate to express what that means. So he doesn't say anything.

* * *

The next day, when his mother and Alexis come to visit, Kate is in one of her awake periods. They'd been talking all morning, once again ignoring the fact that they're dying, side by side in a sterile hospital room. She told him about her job, and he told her about his. She told him about her dad, how he's in Scotland and she doesn't want to worry him too much to make him come back.

He wondered what could possibly lead her to thinking her father should be in Scotland while she's dying.

They're talking about how Dr. Davidson flirts with her every time he comes in when the door opens and Alexis walks in, saying something about how his mother ended up stopping to talk to one of the older doctors—flirt, to be more precise—when she stops in her tracks and sees Kate.

He's not sure if he actually wants them to meet, doesn't really introduce Alexis to most of his friends. But he also knows it would be extremely rude to close the curtain in Kate's face when they were in the middle of a conversation. So he smiles at Alexis, motions to where Kate is sitting.

"Alexis, this is my roommate, Detective Kate Beckett," he tells his daughter.

Kate smiles. "I would get up to shake your hand, but I'm bedridden unless I need to use the bathroom," she explains. The chuckle she lets out is forced, but he doubts Alexis notices.

Instead, his daughter walks around his bed to stand by Kate's and shake her hand. "I would say nice to meet you, Detective Beckett, but this is never a good place to meet someone," she says.

It's almost the exact same thing Kate told the nurse that first morning.

Kate and Alexis talk for about half an hour. Alexis does some research on Kate's condition, finds an article on the shooting that put her here in the first place. He sees Kate's face when she mentions it, remembers her comment about not being able to laugh without risking cardiac arrest. He figures crying isn't much better, so he asks Alexis not to read the article. At least, not in front of Kate.

He can't risk having her die in front of him.

He's not sure why the idea hurts him so much.

* * *

"I'm bored," she announces one day. He turns to face her, and she does the same. "Waiting for a heart transplant is boring."

"You don't have to tell me," he reminds her, and though he means it as lighthearted, the exchange feels heavy.

She stares at him for a minute then turns to face the ceiling. "We should do something," she says. "I've always hated doing nothing, and now I've been doing exactly that for almost three weeks."

"We could do something," he suggests.

"Like what?"

He hums softly. "I would suggest truth or dare, but being bedridden and unable to do much of anything, that would be no fun," he answers. And then he turns to her. "Ooh, how about twenty questions?"

She turns to him, brows furrowed. "Twenty questions? What are we? Twelve?"

"Well, last I checked, you're thirty-two and I'm forty-two, but we can pretend we're twelve, it that will make you play," he answers. She rolls her eyes at him, again. "Come on, Kate, you said you're bored. Ask me about my deepest, darkest secrets."

"How about we start with something more trivial. Like, middle name?"

She gives in. She's going to play. And that makes him smile.

"Alexander before the name change, Edgar now," he answers. "You?"

Her face contorts into an adorable little frown. "Don't laugh," she warns. He nods, smiling. "Houghton."

He doesn't laugh, because although not the most… feminine last name he's ever heard, it suits her. Somehow, he just knows it does. So, instead, he nods.

"Your turn," she says.

He thinks for a second before asking: "Birthday?"

"Lame," she huffs, shaking her head at him. He notices her pulse slow, and then rise again. "It's November seventeenth, seventy-nine. You?"

"April first, sixty-nine," he answers.

She turns to him, a smile on her face. "April Fool's baby?" she asks. He nods. Her smile only grows. "Guess that makes you a big joke."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny, Kate," he mumbles. "That has to be the worst joke you've cracked yet."

She laughs softly, and her heart rate falls again, comes back up when she stops as quickly as she started. "Sorry," she whispers, "I couldn't help it." Her gaze meets his, and for the first time since she's come in, she looks genuinely scared.

Something in him tells him he needs to distract her.

So he does. "Blood type?" he asks.

She smiles, and although he knows it's forced, he does, too. "O positive," she answers.

He feels his smile widen at that. "Me too."

* * *

"So," he asks one day when they're just lying there, silently, and it feels too much like they're just waiting, "anyone special in your life?"

She turns to him, brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Just wondering," he answers. "I would guess no, because the only people I've heard you talk to were your dad, and, uh, Gates? But I mean, maybe you just don't want to worry him, either or maybe it's long distance of something."

"So, you wanna know if I have a boyfriend?" she asks. He nods. "Because you're _just wondering_. I don't know, Rick, I think you're trying to figure out if you can flirt with me, or if I'm already taken."

"If you _are_ taken, it's a little late to instill a no flirting rule, don't you think?" he counters.

She chuckles softly, and her heart rate falls, her hand pressing against her chest like it hurts. "Yeah, I guess," she whispers. It sounds pained, and he's tempted to tell her not to talk, to let her heart recover from whatever her laughter triggered, but her pulse is already rising and he sees her relax a bit. "And no, I don't have a boyfriend. What about you, any special woman in your life? Besides Alexis and your mother?"

"Nah. The hospital isn't the ideal location for a date," he answers.

"I don't know, Rick, I think you're doing pretty good."

He's _positive_ the words were not the deliberate, the implication not meant to be there, but he can't help but grin at her anyway and chuckle softly when she winces as she realizes her own mistake.

"Does that mean this is a date, Kate?"

"Not what I meant," she grumbles before falling silent for a moment. "So," he pipes up eventually, "if not a girlfriend, who's the Gina person you talk to on the phone all the time?"

"Publisher," he answers, "and ex-wife."

That draws her attention, her innocently curious gaze. "Ex-wife? Alexis' mom?"

"Nope, that would be Meredith, the other ex-wife."

"Wow. Two ex-wives? What happened, if you don't mind my asking?" she asks, and he can tell she's still nothing but genuinely curious.

So he tells her. "Meredith cheated on me with one of her directors. I, uh, caught them in the act," he says, "and Gina and I never should have gotten together in the first place, never mind married."

"Hmm… Well, with two divorces under your belt, and the, what was it, _understanding of people_ you get from being a writer, you must be able to come up with a pretty good answer," she says. She turns to him, serious as could be. "If we were to get together, what would make us fall apart?"

"Nothing."

It comes out before he can think, but his heart flutters in his chest—the good kind, not the ones all the doctors in the ward warn you about—and he realizes it's true. So very true.

Until her words, soft and confused, cut through his joy.

"Really?" She actually sounds lost, like his answer made no sense to her. "I mean, you must have know Meredith for at least a couple months before you got her pregnant, asked her to marry you and had a shotgun wedding for the baby's sake—yeah, that sounds like you —and you must have known Gina for a while, too, before you guys got married." Her eyes meet his. "We've only known each other for a few weeks," she says, "why do you think we would work out better?"

Her eyes flash with something he can't read. Hope, maybe.

And he's dead serious—okay, bad choice of words—when he answers.

"Because I think our relationship, founded on _this,_ something big, life changing, life _threatening_ and completely serious, would be stronger than any relationship based on an unintentional—albeit not regretted—pregnancy or or a publicity stunt," he tells her, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

She stares at him for a what feels like forever, swallows thickly and turns away. "I'm tired," she mumbles.

For a minute, he thinks she's avoiding him, but she's out within five minutes.

* * *

She sleeps a lot more, almost like a newborn. She wakes up to eat, go to the bathroom, and occasionally they talk. But most of the time, she's asleep. She's weaker, too. She wobbles to the bathroom, walks _so_ slowly, a hand pressed against the wall like it's the only thing holding her upright.

She's dying.

He knows it. The doctors know it. But worst of all, she knows it.

Because in her moments of consciousness, her head rolls on the pillow, and her eyes meet his, and sometimes it looks like she's begging for help, but others it looks like she just wants to give in to the fatigue and the weakness and never wake up.

* * *

Sometimes, he wishes the curtain that separates her from him actually _was_ soundproof, and this evening is one of those times. Because he knows he's going to hear something he doesn't want to hear the moment nurse Branton walks by, shooting with a sympathetic gaze that he _knows_ can't be good. And then she, along with Dr. Davidson, disappear behind the curtain, into Kate's side of the room.

"Kate," he hears Dr. Davidson say, "your heart function is diminishing more rapidly than we anticipated. You've been moved up on the transplant list, and we're all very hopeful that you will get a new heart on time, but UNOS can make no guarantees. Is there anyone you would like us to call?"

Her dad still doesn't know. She's dying and her dad doesn't know and he half expects her to finally give in and tell him the truth about her condition. But she doesn't.

All he hears from her is a pained hum, and a mumble that sounds a little like his name.

* * *

The most bittersweet day of his life begins at 2:47, when he's woken by the most pained scream he's ever heard. His eyes pop open and he pulls it a quick breath that makes his failing lungs ache and he turns towards the curtain because, even screaming, he recognizes that voice. He would recognize it anywhere.

His thumb hits the red button to call the nurse, and he's almost tempted to ignore doctor's orders and climb out of bed to go calm her down, but then nurse Mason is running into the room. She spots him first, and then hears Kate and runs past him, swiping the curtain closed between them.

"Page Dr. Davidson!" she calls into the hall.

He can hear nurse Mason attempting to soothe Kate, but her breathing is labored and he can hear her pained moans and her choked, sleepy sobs that are fading, fading. And he tries not to focus on that, to focus on the beeping of her heart monitor. But the beats are slowing and he hears nurse Mason call for the exact same thing she did right before Mr. Johnson was pronounced dead. A crash cart.

But now it's not old Mr. Johnson, but Kate. _Kate_ who is only thirty two and has so much ahead of her. Kate, his friend. Kate, the woman he's pretty sure he's falling in love with.

And she's dying.

Dr. Davidson runs into the room just as the monitor makes a new sound, a fast beeping he vaguely recognizes, and the doctor shouts something followed by "charge to three hundred!" and then "clear!"

He squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the first jolt of electricity, the spasms of her lifeless body, the rustling of the sheets beneath her. His fingers curl around his own sheets, fists so tight they hurt when he hears them do it again.

And then, finally, Dr. Davidson tells the nurses "We got her back."

He's almost reassured, until he hears the doctor tell the nurse to update UNOS on her condition and have her moved up the list. If she doesn't get a heart within the next few days, _at most,_ she's not going to make it.

* * *

 ** _Thank you to my friend Christina for reading this over for me and correcting all my face palm worthy mistakes. Stay tuned for part two, and thank you for reading. :)_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_pulse_**

* * *

The sweet part comes when his cardiothoracic surgeon, Dr. Altman, walks into his room at around ten, her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, lab coat pulled over her shoulders. If not for the smile on her face, wide and happy, he would be sure it was just another day. But the smile gives her away. And his heart clenches because he _knows._

She's here to tell him he got lung. And a heart. And he's going to live. And Kate's going to die.

"No," he says before she can say a word. "No, I can't be… I'm healthy, Dr. Altman. Well, not healthy, but stable. And she's… She's dying. How could I… before her?" He stares at the curtain, at the silhouette of her bed and body the sun casts against it. "She's going to die."

"Rick," she sighs, "I understand that she's your friend, and I understand that this seems unfair. Trust me, I have seen many patients die unfairly. But this is your chance. Declining these lungs and this heart will do her no good. They would simply go to the next person designated by UNOS, which will most likely not be Miss Beckett."

"Detective," he corrects. "She's a detective. She spends every day keeping people like us safe and she just… She got shot and there were complications and now she's going to die, what, because you guys couldn't find her a heart fast enough?"

"Rick, you know we have nothing to do with the choice as to where donor organs go, we simply transplant them into patients," says Dr. Altman.

He sighs. "I know," he whispers. "I just… I wish somebody could do something for her. I wish _I_ could save her."

Dr. Altman is surprisingly silent for a moment, and when she speaks, it does nothing to make him feel better, only confused him more. "Do you know Mi– Detective Beckett's blood type?"

He feels his brows furrow, his head turning from the curtain to the doctor. "Yeah," he answers. "It's O positive, like mine. Why?"

Dr. Altman looks thoughtful for a minute before turning to leave, saying something about needing to talk to Dr. Davidson. He doesn't try and stop her.

If she has something that can save Kate, he'll do anything to help her.

* * *

"Kate," he hears through the curtain. It's joined by the soft jostling of the sheets, Dr. Davidson trying to wake her. "Kate. Detective Beckett, I need you to wake up."

Her moan is soft, pained, her heart rate so slow he's scared it's going to stop again. But she manages a word, in a soft, croaked voice. "Yes?"

He can hear Dr. Davidson's smile as he speaks. "We found you a heart."

She doesn't move. He can see the silhouette of her bed against the curtain again, the shadow of her. But he still knows she perks up. It's in her voice. "You did?"

"We did," confirms Dr. Davidson. "You'll be going into surgery as soon as your prepped."

"I… UNOS found one in time?" she mumbles, still groggy, obviously a little confused.

"Not UNOS, Kate. Us. Actually, my colleague Dr. Altman did," explains Dr. Davidson. He hears the rustling of sheets, sees the doctor sit down on the edge of her bed. "It's a different kind of heart transplant, Kate. Let me explain."

* * *

Per his request, they end up side by side in the cramped pre-op rooms. She's lying in the bed next to his, in and out of consciousness like she has been since Dr. Davidson told her they had a heart.

So when she whispers his name, from her bed, where she's buried under a thick layer of blankets, he doesn't expect it, and it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Yeah, Kate?" he whispers back, turning to look at her.

He can tell she's weak and absolutely exhausted, tired of fighting death, but she still manages to turn towards him. Her eyes are glassy and half open, but she manages the slightest of smiles. He smiles back.

"I… Are Martha… and Alexis… waiting for you out there?" she asks. Her voice low, breathy, and then she sucks in as deep a breath as she can through her nose, taking in the oxygen.

"They are," he answers. "They're waiting for you, too, though. They want both of us to make it."

"They do?" she whispers.

He smiles at her. "Yeah, they do. They've grown to care about you, too, Kate. The last thing they want is for you to die," he tells her.

"Probably prefer me… over you," she manages, cracking the smallest of smiles.

"You're probably right," he agrees, "but you have people to live for, too."

"I do?" she asks. "Who?"

He tilts his head at her. "Your dad? The one in Scotland that has no idea you're having surgery today," he tells her, and her lips curl into a tiny 'O'. "You have to live so he doesn't get a call from Dr. Davidson apologizing for the loss of his daughter. Trust me, no father wants that. And then there's…"

"There's someone… else?" she mumbles. "My mom… is dead. I have no… siblings. No… boyfriend. Nobody."

"You have me," he says. "And I, Kate, will not accept coming out of the OR and recovering from my transplant without you right next to."

Her smile is small, weak but genuine. "You… Really?"

He was told not to move too much, but he can't help it. She sounds so in _awe_ that he cares so much, looks so vulnerable and weak, and he feels fine. His oxygen levels are steady. So he pushes himself up into a seated position on his cot, leans over despite the slight ache in his chest. The beds are so close together that he doesn't have to get up to reach hers, to fumble with the sheets until he finds her fingers, can wrap his around them.

It's the first time they've touched since they met, and even though her fingers are freezing, he wouldn't change a thing about the moment.

"Yeah, me, Kate. We're partners. Heart transplant partners. What am I supposed to do if I lose you?"

"Fight," she answers immediately. "If I… die in there… or live… you have to… fight… for your life."

"I will," he promises, "but you'll be here to fight with me."

"Okay," she murmurs. "I'll… be here. We'll fight… together."

He smiles, and she manages to, too. And his lips long for her touch, for the soft touch of hers, but his heart is telling him to wait. To wait until she's survived and he's survived and they begin their new fight, together.

So he settles for squeezing her fingers. "Dr. Altman's going to be here soon," he tells her, "and I don't want her catching me breaking doctor's orders. But I do have to promise one more thing."

"What?" she whispers.

"I'll be right next to you when you wake up."

Her eyes crack open. She's fading again, fighting it for him. "What if… your sur…gery runs… long?" she mumbles.

He brings her hand to his mouth, dusts a kiss against her cold skin.

"I'll still be right next to you."

* * *

He wakes up to an ache in his chest and the tug of the anesthesia trying to drag him back to the world of dreams and a nurse standing at the foot of his bed, smiling at him.

"Good morning, Rick. Good to see you again," greets nurse Branton, happy, peppy. "Dr. Altman will be in soon to give you the details, but so far, you seem to be doing well. I'm just going to do your post-op exam. Is that okay?"

He sucks in a breath, winces slightly as his chest expands with it. He's mostly numb, other than the pain. And he's exhausted. But he manages to turn his head, eyes landing on the blue curtain pulled down the middle of the room. Her silhouette is cast across the fabric.

"She made it?" he mumbles. "Kate… she's alive?"

He doesn't have the energy of the willpower to look away from her, to tear his eyes of the silhouette of her bed, the curves of her body. But he can hear the smile in nurse Branton's voice when she answers.

"She did. Got out of the OR not too long ago. Dr. Davidson said she did amazing, passed with flying colors, so to speak. He seems to think she'll make a complete recovery," she answers. "I think Dr. Altman expects the same thing out of you, to be honest, although I'm not supposed to share things like that with a patients."

He exhales in a feeble attempt to laugh, eyes falling shut. "I won't sue," he mumbles. He manages to turn his head towards nurse Branton again. "She got my heart… you know," he manages.

"The whole ward knows, Rick. You guys have been the talk of the cardiopulmonary department since Dr. Altman and Dr. Davidson announced they were doing a domino transplant," she tells him.

"Do you think she'll be mad?" he asks.

She smiles, grabbing his wrist to chest his pulse. "I don't see why she would be. You gave her her life, Rick. That has to be the best love letter or present or whatever anyone's ever given someone," she answers. "Besides, I don't think Kate was quite ready to leave this world yet."

He shakes his head slightly, just enough to get his point across. "I think she was," he murmurs. "Think she thought she had… no chance and accepted that she was going to… die." He takes as deep a breath he can, rolls his head against the pillow to look at her again. "But this world wasn't ready to lose her."

* * *

The next time he wakes up, the anesthesia has less of an effect on him, less of a mind numbing effect. He still feels pretty numb everywhere else, though, besides the ache at his incision site and the tips of his fingers. He doesn't feel much like he can move, but he's more aware of his surroundings. Of the orange of the setting sun that casts across the room. Of the cool air from the air conditioner that circles in the room.

The next thing he's aware of is the fact that the curtain between them is open, the blue not in his peripheral but rather the white of the hospital blankets, that pale beige of her skin, the thin green line that marks her every, steady heart beat. It's higher than it was before. Stronger, probably. And her skin already has just a touch more color to it.

He's pretty sure she's still asleep, though he can't see her face to make sure. Her breathing is a little shallow, though and slightly unsteady. He's fairly certain that means she might wake up soon.

He hopes that means she might wake up soon.

So he waits, watching her sleep. He stares at her face, at her cheeks that are pinker than he's seen them in weeks. Watches the sharp peaks and valleys of the line on her heart monitor, each one almost identical to the last, each one coming at an even interval. Each one telling him she's alive. He stares at her chest, at the way it comes up and goes down with breaths deeper than the ones she's taken on her own in the past few days.

She looks healthy again. Or, well, like she she has a chance again.

It feels like forever, and he feels the drugs tugging at his consciousness again when she draws him to complete awareness. Her voice soft, breathy, _exhausted._

"Rick?"

"Kate!" he calls back. "Kate, I'm right here. Just like I told you I would be."

"Rick?" she whispers again. "Rick? You're… We're alive." Awe. She sounds like she's in _absolute awe_ of the fact that they're lying side by side in their room again. Alive. Surviving.

"Yeah," he whispers, back. "Yeah, and we're going to be okay."

She hums softly, probably already being pulled back under by the medication, by the anesthesia that has get to wear off. But she manages a single word, a short plea. " _Okay."_

He smiles. "Yeah, Kate, we're going to be okay," he tells her again. "So you get some more sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up again. I promise."

"Okay," she mumbles.

But it's her last words that shock him, that make his heart flutter. It's them that leave him unable to sleep for a long time after she fades back into the darkness. Quiet, but so very, very _strong_.

"Love you."

* * *

He wakes up to the nurse's fingers tight around his wrist and a stethoscope pressed against the top part of his chest. His eyes flutter and land on the night nurse's face. She smiles at him.

"Your next check wasn't supposed to be another half hour, but she was asking for you," whispers the nurse. "I've heard a lot about you two, figured you wouldn't mind being woken up a little early."

He smiles up at her. "I don't," he whispers back. He turns towards Kate's side of the room. "Can you open the curtain?" he asks. She does, smiling at him.

"There you go, Kate. Rick," she says. "I'll be in to check on you both again later."

His eyes instantly land on hers. The green orbs that shine with a life he's missed since her health plummeted. She's smiling, just a bit, tired, but smiling.

"We're alive," she whispers. "I was scared I wouldn't make it. That I would… die even though you said you needed me to live. I was scared I would let you down."

"You could never let me down."

Her smile widens just a bit, just for a second. "I didn't think I was going to make it, and then Dr. Davidson said he found a heart, that it was from someone else from this hospital," she says. "At first, I thought three people were lucky enough to get a transplant on the same day, but then… I think it was the anesthesia, but I had a dream."

Her eyes meet his, and he knows she waiting for the words, for the confirmation, so he gives it to her.

"It's mine," he whispers. For her and her alone even though, according to nurse Branton, they're already the talk of the hospital. "It was Dr. Altman's idea. I… she came to tell me that she found me a heart, but I couldn't be happy."

"You should have been," she mumbles.

"I couldn't," he repeats. "I was going to live and you were going to die."

"That's sweet."

He smiles. "I told Dr. Altman that. I told her I wanted you to live. I wanted to see us both live. I told Dr. Altman that I wished there was something I could do to help you, to _save_ you. And next thing you know, she has a solution."

"You let them take your heart and give it to me?" she whispers.

"We were a match, and my heart was still pretty healthy. A lot better than yours," he explains. "You were going to die without it, and the heart would have gone to medical waste otherwise. You needed it. And I… I needed you. I need you. I can't lose you. So, yeah, Kate, I let you have my heart."

"Literally," she whispers, sounding almost amused.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, heavy and serious and true.

"And figuratively."

But when he meets her eyes, he can tell she doesn't mind.

In fact, he's pretty sure he sees something sparkle in them.

* * *

 **This chapter is much shorter, but I wanted to focus on the actual transplants (and immediately before and after). I hope it is satisfactory. After the _overwhelming_ response to the first chapter, I must admit I was pretty nervous to post this.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**pulse**_

* * *

The doctors, he finds out, are all suckers for a good love story. They learn within days after their surgery that all they have to do to get what they want is allude to a romantic gesture. That's how he gets the nurses to stop closing the curtain between them, and then when he convinces Dr. Altman and a handful of nurses that he wants to be closer to her because love heals and he just wants to help her get better. They end up close enough to hold hands. And they do it almost constantly, since it's the most and only physical contact they've ever been allowed.

His mother and Alexis love it, although Alexis was apprehensive at first about the idea of him dating the woman to whom he gave his heart. His mother rambles about how it's like something out of the greatest dramas, tragedy followed by happiness, love founded on the fear of mutual death. Alexis sits by his side, occasionally tells him that she's glad to see him happy. That she's glad both he and Kate were able to survive.

She tells him about her mother about a week after the surgery, squeezing his fingers as she talks about the detectives and the stabbing and the mystery and the ruling it off as gang violence. About the reason she became a cop. The reason she got shot. She mumbles that she's going to pull back for a while. That she's almost died twice looking for answers. That her death is the last thing her mother would want. And then she tells him about her father's alcoholism. About the reason she didn't want to tell him she was dying.

And it finally all makes sense.

So he's there by her side when she tells her dad _everything_. About everything from the passing out to her latest physio session, during which she managed to walk the hall for the first time since the transplant. And then she tells her father— _Jim,_ as he insisted after finding out it was him that gave Kate a heart—about them. Holds his hand, squeezes his fingers, and tells her father that she's never been more sure of anything in her life.

He cheers her on during her physio. She does the same for him. And today, that's exactly what she's doing, Lying back against her bed, reaching over to hold his hand as his physiotherapist helps him out of bed.

"You're gonna do great, Rick," she tells him. "You're almost done. And as soon as you get this done and pass all his tests, the sooner we can get out of here."

He's forced to part from her when the therapist, Mr. Morgan, leads him away from the bed and then out of the room.

"You know, Rick, it helps to have a goal to work towards," he tells him. "Do you have one? Anything you really want to do that you don't think you would be able to do right now?"

He doesn't hesitate to answer. "I want to take Kate out on a date. A proper one. Outside of here. Not eating hospital food," he says. "Get her flowers, kiss her goodnight. I want to spoil her. She deserves it."

Mr. Morgan smiles at him. "Then that's what we're working towards," he says.

He manages to get around the hall faster than he ever had before.

* * *

They get to the point where doctors are encouraging them to move on their own volition, where they're on the verge of discharge. So they do, slipping on robes over their hospital gowns at first, and then graduating to their own clothing. He leads her around the halls, holding her hand, lacing his arm through hers.

Neither of them miss the smiles they get from the staff.

When discharge nears, Dr. Davidson and Dr. Altman are on the same page about releasing them at the same time, in only a few days. They're sitting side by side, listening to every instruction intently. His mother and Alexis are there, too. Her father is busy at the law firm.

It gets to the end when Dr. Davidson informs them both that it is highly advised that a post-transplant patient have someone with them at all times, at least for the first few weeks.

That's when she says it. "Doctor, I don't have anywhere to go." Strong, genuine. Like she really thinks there's no one willing to take her in. Like she really thinks there's no way she could find someone willing to live with her for a few weeks.

And he has to make sure she _stops_ believing that.

"Yes you do."

She turns to him, eyes wide. "Rick, I could never…"

"Never what? Let me take care of you? I'll let you take care of me. And Mother will be there, too," he tells her. "It's a nice place, Kate, with people who care about you. You can even stay in the guest room if that would make you more comfortable. Or if you're scared that, sharing a bed, we won't be able to follow doctor's orders." He waggles his eyebrows at her, just to see that little amused, but annoyed, smile come up across her face.

She doesn't disappoint. "Fine," she whispers. "But I think we'll be… okay to share a bed, if that's okay with you."

"It's more than okay with me," he answers.

His smile doesn't go away after that. He had never been sure how he would tolerate suddenly being away from her, and now… he doesn't have to think about it for at least another few weeks.

* * *

She's wearing an old, oversized NYPD t-shirt and a pair of black leggings that day. The day they get discharged. Her father is in the room. His mother and Alexis are there, too. Dr. Altman and Dr. Davidson each handing them form after form to sign, repeating all the instructions they've already been given twice a day for almost a week.

He hands the last form to Dr. Altman just as she does the same with Dr. Davidson, both of them sitting up in their beds, smiling because they're free. To go. To get to know each other outside of the hospital walls. To fall even more in love than they already are. And the doctors confirm it, the minute the paperwork is complete.

"You guys are free to go."

He's still a little weak, a little sluggish, but he manages to push himself off the bed before she can get off hers, and his hand reaches out, fingers curling around hers so he can help her from her own bed. Her arm wraps around his waist, and she lets her side press against his body. He presses his nose against the curve of her skull, nuzzles it against the softness of her hair.

"We did it, Kate," he whispers. She hums, pulls away from him just enough to look him in the eyes. He can't help but notice the happy sparkle in hers. "Lets go home."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the words. The word. _Home._ But when he snakes his hand down between them to intertwine his fingers with hers, the only response he gets is the gentle squeeze she offers.

He takes it as encouragement.

They walk side by side out of the hospital room, their families and respective doctors following close behind. The nurses, gathered at their station, start clapping. Happy. Proud.

They're not just a success story around here, but a love story, too.

He feels a hand skim across his back, turns his head to see Dr. Altman smiling at them. "You two are infamous around here. Enjoy it," she says softly before walking past him.

He turns towards Kate, smiles down at her. "Infamous, huh?"

She chuckles softly, tilting her head to the side. "I never really liked being the center of attention," she mumbles.

"Oh?" he whispers, for her and her alone, leaning forward so his next words tickle the shell of her ear. "Well then moving in with me might not be the best idea, since you're always the center of _my_ attention."

She rolls her eyes at him, laughing again. "That is so cheesy," she tells him. Her free hand reaches up, fingers splaying across his cheek. "I never liked cheesiness either."

"Well then, this is definitely not going to work," he tells her. "Might as well just end it now." He turns, goes to walk away, never letting go of her hand, just to feel her pull him back.

"Nope," she tells him, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You told me nothing could tear us apart, so no walking out on this, Mr. Castle, ever."

It's a joke. But it's not. It's not because she's bringing up things from before, promises made back when she didn't believe them, back when they were dying and just getting to know each other and she didn't think he could ever know they could last after only a couple weeks. But now it's a Freudian slip, based on the way her eyes suddenly widen as she realizes her own words. It's a slip that makes a smile tugs at his cheeks.

He's reaching out for it before he can actually control it, hands framing her face as his mouth smudges her shocked expression off her face. Her hand releases his and he feels her nails claw at his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. He parts from her gently, lets his eyes flutter open only to find that hers are still closed. He presses another quick peck to her mouth, brushes his thumb across her cheek and watches as she finally opens her eyes.

The nurses, all around them, begin to clap again, but all he can focus on his her and the whispered words that slip through her parted lips.

"What was that for?"

He smiles down at her. "To promise I'm not walking out on this, now or ever."

* * *

She makes him wait _ten weeks_ for the first date. Ten weeks after they have their surgeries before he can actually take her out on a _real_ date and it's near torture for his hopeless romantic, figurative heart.

But she is adamant.

" _Rick, we can barely keep our hands off each other now, eating breakfast for God's sake,_ " she had said one morning, " _imagine if I let you take me out on an actual date. Dr. Davidson and Dr. Altman would be so mad at us for breaking doctor's orders because we just couldn't wait to have sex. So no."_

And because it was her, he listened.

That is until the day he comes walking out of Dr. Altman's office just as she comes walking out of Dr. Davidson's office and he can tell from the glint in her eye that she's been cleared. He has, too. But he lets her pull him into the elevator anyway, lets her shove him against the wall and press a kiss to his lips.

"Doctor says we're good," she whispers into his neck. "You?"

"Good," he answers, his voice a mumble against the crown of her head.

She hums against him, looks up at him with a grin. "You know what that means?"

He presses a kiss to forehead, fingers curling around her sides. "That means you better find something to wear, because I'm taking you out on a date tonight," he answers.

He picks her up at six from the apartment he's only been to a handful of times, smiles at her, lets his eyes scan the length of her body. Her dress is skin tight, pitch black with lace that covers her chest, circles her neck. He knows she's trying to hide the scar, the one identical to his. She would look beautiful either way, that much he's sure of, but instead of bringing it up, he just pulls the bouquet of simple white daisies from behind his back and admires the glow that lights up her face.

He takes her out to dinner at restaurant that balances fancy with casual, and though their diets are both restricted, they each find something good to each. Something they can pick off each other's plates. And though they're both perfectly sober, he soon feels her toes, trapped within the confines of her strappy stilettos, trailing up his leg.

They don't stay for dessert. Their low sugar diet is their excuse. The way they make out in the cab on the way back to his place makes it obvious they left for a _completely_ different reason.

Luckily, very few people live on the penthouse floor of his building, and none are in the hall when they get home, because they end up with her wedged between his body and the door and her hands in his hair as his lips trail across her neck, open and wet until he finds the pounding at her pulse point, steady beneath his lips.

That's what it hits him, hard and heavy, almost knocking the air out of him to the point where she goes completely still against him, slim fingers curling around his arms.

"Rick, are you okay?"

His hands land on her arms and he gently, slowly takes a step away from her, pulling in a deep breath as he nods his head slowly to reassure her. He watches her brow furrow, lips twisting into a confused grimace.

"Then why are we stopping?" she asks. "If it's too much, that's okay. You did have a heart-lung transplant just over two months ago. We can wait."

"It's not that, Kate," he promises. "I'm fine. I feel fine."

She leans forward a bit, pushing herself off the door so she's standing right in front of him. Her one hand releases his arm, her fingers ghosting across his jaw. "Okay, then, what is it?"

He meets her gaze, sees the genuine mix of confusion and worry shining in her eyes. He lets go of her arm, brushes his thumb across her pulse point. "I just want… I don't want you to feel _obligated_ to me."

"Obligated?" she echoes, voice laced with the same confusion that lingers in her eyes.

"Yeah, because I gave you… my heart," he whispers.

Instantly, she seems to clue in, because her other hand comes flying up to his face, framing his jaw. "You… You think I'm with you because I feel I have to be?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, I just… want to make sure that we're doing this for the right reasons. That this is really what _you_ want. And that you know why you want it."

"Rick," she whispers, and rather than the anger he expected, she sounds more sympathetic than anything, "I'm not doing this because I think I owe you for… the heart. I'm doing this, I want you… because I almost died, and all I could think about was _you_."

Her eyes shine with nothing but sincerity, and her lips quirk into a small smile.

"You're sure this is what you want?"

She leans into him, curls one of her hands around his neck. Her breath is warm as she brushes her lips across his, her whispered words the same as they ghost across his face.

"I just want you."

* * *

She tells him she loves him that night. For the first, completely lucid, she says the words. Wrapped in his arms, head nuzzled against his shoulder, a whisper so soft he thinks she might be half asleep, saying it because she forgot they'd never actually said it before.

But when he looks down at her, she's staring back up at him, eyes wide, innocent, almost nervous looking.

He smiles down at her. "I love you, too."

She pushes herself up, presses her lips to the underside of his jaw. Her nails scrape across his chest lightly, her leg hitching up around his.

"Three months ago, I didn't think I'd ever have the energy to walk again," she mumbles, her lips brushing against his skin with every syllable.

He grins, his fingers curling around his waist. "And now?"

She rolls onto him, her thighs bracketing his perfectly. "And now, I think I have enough energy for round two," she answers. She she leans down, her teeth catch the lobe of his ear, and he feels her smile. "But, if you want a sappier, cheesier answer like you would give," she whispers to him, "I have enough energy to do whatever I want with my life, and I think I might want to spend it with you."

He answers her with a kiss, his fingers threading through her hair. Because there's nothing else to say, not when his heart is beating wildly and the only words he _can_ think are " _marry me_ " and he's pretty sure now is not the time to blurt _that_ out.

That doesn't stop him from thinking them, though.

* * *

Twelve weeks after surgery, they go out on their second date. Just a little over four months since they met, and they're walking arm in arm through the park, surrounded by the bright lights and hard edges of Manhattan just as much as the green leaves and damp grass of the single largest area of nature on the island.

They end up at a swing set, and he watches her rock back and forth slightly, does it himself as he listens to her talk about how her mother used to take her to the park, how she used to love the sand. When he was a baby, she would eat it, and when she got older, she would try and make sandcastle after sandcastle. She said she also loved the swings, especially as she got a little older, ten and up. She loved the freedom they offered.

But she doesn't want freedom anymore. That's what she tells him. She had to face the reality of life… of death, first when she was shot and then when her heart was giving out in that hospital room. The first time, she realized she had to stop looking into her mother's face. That she had to live her life for herself, not for justice, not just for her mom. That's what her mom would want. And the second, she realized she wanted to fall in love. She _did_ fall in love.

Despite her words, it seems to shock her when he drops to one knee in front of her, not caring that the damp grass is creating a wet spot on the leg of his pants. It's their _second_ date, she's quick to remind him. He's quick to remind her that it's also been practically four months of living together.

She insists on a long engagement, but she says yes.

* * *

They wait until the year is up. One full year since the day they were each rolled into an OR, each saved, each with a second chance on life. A new outlook.

One year and their immunosuppressants are diminished, their bodies mostly back to normal. The only evidence of their time in the hospital being the matching scars on their chests and the ring that always adorns either her finger or the chain around her neck.

And the room full of people sitting there, waiting for them to pledge their lives to each other.

He's standing at the altar when the music fades. No bridesmaids. No fluff. She appears at the end of the aisle, standing right next to her father, wearing her mother's gown. Her smile is bright, a bouquet of white calla lilies and blood red roses nestled against her abdomen. But all he can see is her eyes, locked on his, happy, shining.

When she gets closer, handing her bouquet off to Alexis, he can truly admire the dress. The full skirt, the lace details around her stomach, scattered across the skirt, fading into tightly pulled fabric around her breasts. It continues over her shoulders, curls around her neck, but fades at the middle of her chest, allowing him to see the faded scar. The evidence of their fight to get here. The evidence of her strength, determination and realism and so many other things that made him fall in love with her.

Her vows hypnotize him, beautiful in their eloquence, perfect in their simplicity. Real, true, a tale of love and strength and life and death. A story that brought them from the bright sterility of their hospital room to the dim, romantic lighting of their wedding ceremony.

He mirrors hers, changes a few sentences to reflect his point of view, but he can't bring himself to change them too much. Can't let himself go with every complex little thing she evokes within him when she put their love so simply, so absolutely beautifully. Like a story meant for the biggest of big screens.

"...I love you, Katherine Beckett," he tells her, watching as the smile on her face widens. "And from now on, you will carry a piece of me with you wherever you go." He lets his gaze flutter down to her chest, back up to her face to see her knowing little grin. "Well, a bigger piece than you already carry around with you."

Her eye roll is not unexpected.

Neither is the way their lips are pressed together before the minister can so much as finish his sentence.

* * *

 **Once again, thank you to Christina for beta reading this. I actually meant to get this posted a couple days ago, but with Father's Day and my nephew being born I was busy. Hope it was worth the wait.**


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